Mackenzie's+Essential+Question+3

For the most part, my studies in this course reinforced the beliefs I already had about the relationship between social identity, power, and academic literacy: that is, that having a privileged social identity increases your opportunity for having a high level of academic literacy, and both allow you greater access to power. This relationship was apparent to me while creating my digital storybook. My storybook was structured as a compare and contrast between me and my students, focusing mainly on class. I found that my social identity as a white, middle-class female contributed immensely to my ability to graduate college, join a program like Teach for America, and attend graduate school at Fordham. Because I have parents that can support me if I need financial guidance, I was able to attend college and mainly focus on studies without worrying too much about finances. In addition, my father and older sister attended college, so I knew what to expect from their experiences. The neighborhood I grew up in was fairly wealthy, so I ended up attending strong schools from elementary school to high school. All of these factors developed my academic literacy to the point where I was able to begin a career right out of college, which grants me a fairly high level of societal power. Being a teacher also puts me in what most people would consider a power position. While I stand at the front of the classroom in my “power position,” however, I can’t ignore the circumstances that set me apart from my students. It is no coincidence that I am white and privileged and stand at the front of the classroom, while most of my students are black, impoverished and incarcerated. Many of them have parents who are poor, in prison, or dead, and almost none have family members who have attended college. Because of their lack of familial support, most of my students are in gangs, and some haven’t attended school in years. If they have attended school, it is likely that they went to a school with very little funding and resources. Thus, they either haven’t been exposed to the academic literacies that come with privilege, or they were so overwhelmed by serious and tragic situations that they didn’t have the mental energy to learn. With this in mind, it is no surprise that my students, stripped of their rights and powerless, sit fuming with anger in my classroom. Because of circumstances they were not granted the privileges I had, the privileges you need to succeed in the United States. I imagine that if I were in their position, I would also have days where I broke pencils and threw them on the floor, flung desks, and crumbled up the work placed in front of me. To some students, the work I give them does not represent a path to success—it represents everything they didn’t have, everything they deserved and didn’t have. While academic literacy is a means of power for me, it is a restriction of power for my students. This is why I became an educator, however—to attempt to remind powerless people that they can fight for power and do everything they can to seize it. I believe that this lofty goal is achieved through not only rigorous academic expectations, but also through human empathy. While I know that my students are viewed by the world as prisoners and that this is a social problem I cannot ignore, I refuse to treat them as prisoners in favor of treating them as the intelligent, important human beings they are.